


Marriage of Convenience

by holy_milk



Series: prompt memes/requests [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Crack, Kinda?, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mistaken Identity, Pre-Slash, feanor is trying to be a problem-solver, he's doing a bag job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/holy_milk
Summary: The road to legalizing gay marriage in Valinor is paved with smart political moves and just a bit of good intentions.
Relationships: Finrod Felagund | Findaráto/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: prompt memes/requests [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530497
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	Marriage of Convenience

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who requested Maedhros/Finrod with no additional restrictions. Yay!
> 
> This thing is partly inspired by [this post](https://venwe.tumblr.com/post/190330037655/concept) and cy-lindric's iconic "Terrible Dad Feanor" series.

“I had a talk with Arafinwë this morning.”

Maitimo lowered himself onto a chair and tried to keep a calm expression on his face. He knew that, when it came to his father, no good news started with an introduction like this.

“And?”

“And he agreed to my proposal of marriage. Between you and his eldest.”

Maitimo stared at his father with alarm. Fëanáro seemed perfectly fine and showed no sign of a recent head injury as far as he could tell, but then, Maitimo was no healer.

“Have you, by any chance, hit your head on anything recently?” he asked.

Fëanáro waved a frustrated hand at him.

“Don’t try to be funny with me, Nelyafinwë. I know it may seem quite… unorthodox, but you will see it makes perfect sense for the two of you to marry once you hear my reasoning.”

“I don’t—” Maitimo began, but he was cut off abruptly as Fëanáro started explaining enthusiastically.

“First of all, let’s agree that you’ve been doing a really poor job of finding yourself a spouse. Don’t look at me like that, Nelyo, you know I’m right. Your lack of success in this field is truly astounding, even Turkafinwë has had _some_ experience courting ladies by now, and we both know his social skills are practically nonexistent. So, as a loving and caring parent, I saw fit to take the matters into my own — dare I say, much more competent — hands and find you a suitable match.”

Maitimo gave his father a long-suffering look but said nothing.

“Coincidentally, my father has been rather… unpleased with our family situation lately, and he has told me that it would bring him much pleasure to see me show _at least_ some willingness to get along with the children of Indis, and that got me thinking—”

“Don’t say it,” Maitimo pleaded.

“What’s a better way to show your good intentions towards somebody than marrying one of your beautiful children off to their… doubtlessly less capable but perhaps not totally hopeless one?”

Maitimo groaned and hid his face in his hands.

“Now, I admit, under different circumstances I would be the first to think this a mad idea. But in this family?” Fëanáro scoffed. “This family runs on breaking rules and conventions, so we might as well take advantage of that. And it’s efficient, too! You get a worthy match — after all, Nolofinwë and Arafinwë’s children have all received the best education one can strive for — I get one unmarried son off of my hands, my father gets the proof of my good intentions, and my half-siblings get… something, I guess. So many problems solved by one smart political move!”

Maitimo peeked up at him from behind his fingers.

“But why Findaráto?” he asked with resignation. He had no intention of humoring his father, but he was starting to get curious as to where this was going.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Fëanáro seemed taken aback by the question. He dived into another explanation when Maitimo shook his head, “There isn’t such an abundance of choice to begin with. I’ve only got four half-siblings, and two of them have no children. That leaves us with Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, except there’s no way I’m marrying any of my precious children to Nolofinwë’s feral spawn, no matter what, which means that Arafinwë is our only viable option.

“It’s not so bad if you think about it,” he added with a doubt-filled reassurance. “Arafinwë’s actually got _some_ wits, and he has good looks that could be passed onto my grandchildren,” there was a hint of dreaminess in his voice now. “Imagine the range of hair color varieties we’ll get with his genes thrown in the mix.”

Maitimo preferred not to.

“It is also a very good option from a political standpoint,” Fëanáro continued. “Arafinwë is a half-Vanya, and with Earwen being the Princess of Alqualondë, his children are counted among the Telerin royalty as well. Which means that this marriage will secure our — I mean, your — position in the courts of all three clans, and then Nolofinwë will have no other choice but to admit his inferiority.”

“So much for healing the bad blood between the siblings,” Maitimo muttered under his breath, and Fëanáro squinted at him.

“Don’t think I’m only motivated by pettiness,” he said indignantly. “I’ve heard many good things about Arafinwë’s eldest, too. People say that young Findaráto is a kind and noble soul, well-spoken and articulate, with a good academic background and many practical skills. Believe me, I would never pair you with somebody who lacked potential.”

Maitimo massaged his temples, feeling a headache start to bloom.

“This is madness,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, Father, I understand you’ve worked hard on this, but I — I’m afraid I can’t agree to it.”

Fëanáro put a finger under his chin, lifting his head to look his son in the eye.

“I expected you would say so,” he said, “which is why I’ve already told Arafinwë that you agreed. I may be too soft-hearted to push my beloved children into making hard decisions, so I've decided to let your conscience do that for me.”

For the very first time in his life Maitimo felt like screaming in frustration.

* * *

Arafinwë was already waiting for them when they came down to the living room, and at his side, looking as pure and innocent as a young flower in the first shy rays of Laurelin in spring, sat Findaráto.

The two cousins stared at each while their fathers exchanged a somewhat awkward greeting that involved an aborted handshake and a rushed, strained half-brotherly hug. Maitimo had never seen his cousin before, save from a distance when they happened to pass each other in the King’s square, and he examined the fair, doll-like face with big, deep blue eyes and full pink lips framed by the cascade of silky golden locks with a sort of grudging curiosity.

“Findaráto, say hello to your cousin,” Arafinwë prompted quietly, and Findaráto obliged, standing up to bow politely.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” his cousin greeted in the deepest, most masculine voice he’d ever heard, and Maitimo felt his heart sink and his mouth go very dry all of a sudden.

Heavy silence hang over the room, and Fëanáro slowly turned to look at his half-brother.

“Hold on a second,” he said with dismay. “It’s a boy.”

Arafinwë looked back at him incredulously.

“What else did you expect?”

“We were talking about a _daughter_!”

“No, we were not,” Arafinwë replied, baffled. “You specifically said my _eldest_.”

“Who I was sure was female! How come you never mentioned this part?” Fëanáro demanded.

Arafinwë shrugged.

“You seemed so sure about it. I thought you were just being… inventive.”

Fëanáro pointed at his — unmistakably male — half-nephew, crying helplessly, “He’s wearing a _dress_.”

“Findaráto loves wearing dresses,” Arafinwë was totally nonchalant. “And it’s pink. Pink is a masculine color.”

“There’s been a grave misunderstanding,” Fëanáro passed a hand over his face. “Nelyo, everything’s cancelled. We’ll have to try something else. Nelyo?”

Maitimo was already holding one of Findaráto’s slender, elegant hands.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life,” he declared breathlessly, and Findaráto smiled sweetly at him, taking the compliment with the dignity of someone who was well used to being complimented.

“Thank you,” his cousin replied graciously. “And you’re the most eloquent orator I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to. The speech you delivered at the last harvest festival was splendid.”

His face suddenly felt very hot.

“Is that so?” he said, trying to sound unaffected. “I didn’t even work on it all that hard,” he thought feverishly of what to say next, “There’s another speech I’m writing at the moment. Would you like to hear it?”

“Of course,” Findaráto cried, his face lighting up with delight.

Arafinwë patted Fëanáro on the back.

“You know, I think this is working out perfectly,” he said, smiling softly.

Fëanáro clutched his hair in desperation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to bird-with-glasses for [this beautiful piece of art](https://drawingelves.tumblr.com/post/190760242228/maedhrosfinrod-yeah-finrod-not-fingon-do-or) based on the fic, I'm honored <3


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